


dream is a killer

by sagexbrush



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, criminals, kind of, not an exact au guys it's a little more vague than that, really good questions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8639053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagexbrush/pseuds/sagexbrush
Summary: "So we've got a serial killer, a scientific mistake, a thief, and a girl who's crazy. Not to mention you're possessed by a spirit that's hellbent on destroying the world," Scott sighs. "Missing anything?"Stiles' smile is almost cheerful when he responds. "Nope!"...(an au based off suicide squad)





	1. intro

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: now this is slightly based of suicide squad, i would say the main idea is the same (a team of people that were imprisoned for crimes uniting to save the world) but other than that there are some obvious differences, simply because i didn’t want to copy the plot line, so i changed it to adapt to these characters more.  
> or i basically gave it a whole new plot line bc teen wolf characters are different from the suicide squad peeps.  
> (also the reason i didn’t make scott one of the team members is because he’s the alpha. the leader. so i wanted to change that.)

 

**_Scott McCall._ **

**_Year: 2016._ **

**_Time: 6:50 pm._ **

**_Location: La Caille, French cuisine_ **

            “You want me to do _what_?” Scott McCall is a believer of many things, lacrosse, the afterlife, the supernatural – but the plan that sparks to life in Peter’s sadistic mind he thinks is _insane_.

            Then again, he thinks Peter is insane _so_.

            “I believe I said it clearly enough the first time,” Peter cuts into his steak with the careful precision of someone who knows how to make an atmosphere, his lips savoring each word he delivers to Scott like they’re tasty morsels.

            “You want me to create a team of convicts to _save the world_?”

            He is a firm believer in the principles of good and evil he thinks, in light and dark. He’s earned that, he thinks, from the flashes of it he’s seen in the world. From the dark malevolent beings that loved to tear into things and leave only remnants behind.

            “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

            Scott wants to protest – no, _needs_ to protest.

            “The Twins, Deucalion – everyone would be better suited than a team of people who were locked in Eichen House for a _reason_.”

            _you have to let me go scott._

“Yes, and this is their magical chance to redeem themselves and maybe go to heaven instead of hell. Isn’t it magical?” Peter smiles, but it looks almost like he’s baring his fangs.

            The file lies in-between their two plates, Scott’s food untouched, a red stamp marring the front. CONFIDENTIAL.

            “This is crazy,” Scott repeats.

            “But you’re going to do it.”

            “How can you be so sure?”

            Peter’s eyes are calculating, “Because after I talk you through the people on the team, you’ll accept.”

            He already knows who’s name is in the folder – know it’s in-between the beating of his heart and the cackling of that voice, long ago, before everything changed.

            Scott doesn’t protest as Peter flips open the folder.

            “First up,” he says, “Allison Argent.”

**_Allison argent._ **

**_Year: 2013_ **

**_Time: 3:30 pm._ **

**_Location: on top of a building._ **

Her aunt takes her by the hand and pulls her out of her parent’s house one night, promising her that they’re going to go somewhere _fun_.

            Allison, being little and loving the aunt that spoiled and protected her, gets in the car without a second thought.

            They got to the mall, and her aunt buys her clothes and dolls and little bows to put in her hair.

            Allison thinks, later, when it’s all over and her only friends are her local inmates – that was the moment that her life stopped being _promising_ and started being a _tragedy_.

            When her aunt drives her home and her house is on fire, her parents little more than stretchers covered with sheets – her life changes.

            _Your aunt is your legal guardian_ they had said.

            Allison doesn’t usually think about her parents. She doesn’t think about her strict but sweet mother who used to let Allison eat the cookie dough out of the bowl, or her father that used to tell her bedtime stories every single night.

            _Notch,_ her aunt’s voice says in her head – although Allison reminds herself over and over to call her _Kate_ , to distance herself as much as possible.

            The man on the street is getting out of his car now; his greasy hair smoothed back, his eyes on the plastic device in his hand.

            _Draw._ Her aunt whispers, feather quiet, and Allison draws the bow tight.

            Her target is walking across the sidewalk now, a bald patch glimmering in the light, his phone to his ear.

            As always, the usual flood of doubts start in her mind, but she’s able to push them aside this time. It was just the fact that tonight was _the_ anniversary, and the memory of bright flames is still too close to her subconscious for her to be entirely comfortable.

            The man stretches his fingers, and Allison remembers his file all of the sudden, the dangerous powers that run underneath his skin like blood.

            _Loose._ Allison takes a deep breath, clearing her mind of everything, holding on to one memory, her anchor. She lets the arrow fly as she pictures the wild burning flames that engulfed the edges of her vision. It’s specially built to rip through anything short of a concrete wall, and this man’s head is _not_ a concrete wall. Allison stands tall as she listens to the people screaming down below as the insides of his head paints the alleyway in such a pretty speckled pattern of scarlet.

            “Job done,” she says into the watch at her wrist, and her aunt – _Kate_ , laughs.

            “Five more and you’ll be out of your debts,” she says coyly into Allison’s earpiece, and she has to refrain from yanking it out of her ear and throwing it to the ground, stomping on it and blocking everything out.

            “Five more,” Allison affirms, and then breaks off the comm.

            She’s about to go down the stairwell she had accessed to get up to the roof when a cool voice interrupts her.

            “Not so fast sweetheart,” Matt’s voice rings out across the rooftop and Allison stops, fear springing through her bones.

            “You,” she chokes, and that word is enough to make her whip out an arrow from her bow and aim it at his head.

            He’s wearing that infernal suit of his, the watch on his wrist glinting.

            “Not so fast,” he whispers, and she sees _it_ slink out behind Matt’s legs, all reptilian scales and cold yellow eyes.

            “Nice to see you again Jackson,” she says. “Tell me, do your pals in the government know what you two did to Lydia?”

            “The government doesn’t care about that bitch,” Matt snarls. “And for the record – neither do you. You never knew her.”

            But Kate had told her the _story_ , had told her about the supposed superhero Matt with his shape shifter Jackson, but Allison _knew_. She knew the poison that ran in the veins of anything supernatural, knew that it was _her_ duty to wipe it out, explode it against the alleyway walls for someone else to find.

            She lets the arrow fly, but the kanima beside him is faster, deflecting her arrow with its long spindly tail and lunging forward to make a neat incision on the back of her neck.

            She goes down to Matt’s laughter and the kanima’s hissing, and yet her only thought is – _will this add onto my debt to Kate?_

**_Scott McCall._ **

**_Year: 2016_ **

**_Time: 7:00 pm._ **

**_Location: La Caille, French cuisine_ **

            “Allison Argent is a serial killer,” Scott says, as Peter recites her story to her. “Just like her aunt.”

            “ _Hit man_ is the correct term. Her aunt who nobody’s managed to catch yet,” Peter says. “Allison’s a valuable asset. She never misses, and has gotten into minimal prison fights.”

            “Minimal?”

            “There was one with our next candidate, but he sort of gets under everyone’s skin so I can’t really blame her,” Peter chuckles like this is some sort of _joke_ , like they’re not talking about real people here.

            Scott flicks Allison’s file aside to look at the next one.

            “Liam Dunbar,” he reads out loud. “I haven’t heard of him.”

            It’s a wonderment. Allison Argent’s face and the names of the people she’d killed had been flashed across every news station in the country, but this Liam Dunbar – who, Scott realizes with a pang, is several years younger than him – was completely unknown to him.

            “His story is a little more odd,” Peter affirms. “I assume you remember the Dread Doctors?”

            Scott’s shoulders tighten. _Of course_ he remembers them, the most renowned scientists in the country until it had been revealed that they had been practicing their – er – _experiments_ on teenagers and children

            “And this Liam – “

            “Read the file and find out.”

**_Liam Dunbar._ **

**_Year: 2015._ **

**_Time: 8:00 am._ **

**_Location: his high school hallway_ **

            “Hey Liam – you – “ Hayden Romero’s voice, which had initially been full of anger and attitude changed to something much softer once she saw the look on his face. “Are you okay?”

            Liam, who had been nursing a crush on the other girl for quite some time now, usually would have been happy by this. _Usually._

Instead, he just finds that his legs won’t stop shaking, which is kind of ridiculous. He’s always been rock solid before.

            _Before._

“Liam?” Hayden repeats, and he remembers to wave her off.

            “I’m fine Hayden,” he says, with perhaps a little too much bite, but he’s starting to think that coming to school was a bad idea.

            _Claws, glowing eyes – “We’ll kill her and everyone of your friends if you tell anyone.”_

Hayden, looking offended that he had rebuffed her so quickly, turns on her heel and stalks away.

            Liam feels his blood begin to boil, emotions roiling around in his stomach like someone is taking a blender to his insides.

            He clenches his fists tightly, emotions rolling around inside his head and clashing with other thoughts, other reasonings, other _things_. _Keep calm,_ he reminds himself, _keep calm and nobody will notice._

_Nobody will notice the monster you’ve become._

He can still feel the parts where they cut into him burning like someone had heated the knife in fire, the pain racing through his veins. His friend Mason stops down the hallway. Opens his mouth. Is confused.

            Liam can only imagine what the look on his face is. What it looks like is running under his skin, through his organs, impacting his breathing and forcing his heart to beat faster.

            “Whatcha doing freak?”

            Later Liam will remember this kid’s face, this _jerk’s_ face, the gap in between his teeth, the pimples on his forehead, the awkward squeak of his voice. He will look back and realize it was a stupid boy pretending to be a bully.

            In that moment, he didn’t think logically.

            The claws rips out his fingers with bright flares of pain, fangs ripping free of the gums in his mouth and puncturing the top of his lip. He tastes his own blood, and then the kid’s, as he lunges at him and tears his fangs into his flesh, his claws down the kid's body. Ripping him to shreds. You would think the screams would pull him back, but they only egged him on. He tore at the boy until there was hardly anything left.

            _Monster._

 

**_Scott McCall_ **

**_Year: 2016_ **

**_Time: 7:15 pm_ **

**_Location: La Caille, French Cuisine_ **

 

 

            “But he’s just a kid,” Scott says, staring in horror down at Liam Dunbar’s picture.

            “He’s a _monster_ ,” Peter says, buttering a roll. “Most of these people are. Actually, all of them are.”

            Scott flinches.

            “Not on purpose of course,” Peter says, in a voice that’s meant to be soothing but is not soothing at _all_. “You know what I mean.”

            Scott, unfortunately, does.

            He feels a sinking in his gut when he turns to the next person.

            “Malia Tate?” he asks. Her face is smudged with dirt even in the mugshot, and she mostly looks annoyed, like her own imprisonment was merely an inconvenience. He’s heard of her, funnily enough, mostly because he had found her own escape attempts from the police to be funny.

            Peter’s plan, a plan including her, was _not_ however, funny.

 

**_Malia Tate_ **

**_Year: 2015_ **

**_Time: 5:00 pm_ **

**_Location: A Bank_ **

 

            Her partner flees as soon as the cops show up.

            Malia really thinks she should have known better than to trust an idiot like him to watch her back and not to flee when things got hard, but what are you going to do? Suffer. Probably. _Anyways_.

            The cops filter in the hallway behind her, their guns raised, eyes blazing with triumph - the coyote _finally_ caught.

            She hates the smirks on their faces. Her legs tense, every muscle tightening, preparing to run, preparing to _flee_ -

            “Not so fast Tate,” a sly, cold voice says from behind her. The muscles immediately go limp, and the realization strikes her. _I’m caught._

“ _Theo_ ,” she snarls.

            “Hello darling,” he says, right before he shoots her. “Miss me?”

 

**_Scott McCall_ **

**_Year: 2016_ **

**_Time: 7:20 pm_ **

**_Location: La Caille, French Cuisine_ **

 

            “This next one’s _fun_ ,” Peter says, with a look on his face that suggests that Scott will find this to be _not_ fun - not at all.

            “Who is she?” Scott asks the moment he sees her picture. He doesn’t know her, in fact, he hasn’t even _seen_ her before this file. _She looks lonely_ , is his first startling thought, like he’s realizing something for the first time.

            “Lydia Martin,” Peter says. “She’s crazy.”

            She doesn’t look crazy, but Scott doesn’t say so.

            Her hands are shackled in this picture, her eyes vacant, an empty apartment with the windows boarded up. She doesn’t look crazy. She looks lost.

            “What did she do?” Scott sighs. These people were the worst of the worst (apparently) and he couldn’t imagine Lydia Martin was innocent.

            “Nothing,” Peter says, his eyes on her picture.

 

**_Lydia Martin_ **

**_Year: 2012_ **

**_Time: 3:00 am_ **

**_Location: Her Bedroom_ **

Jackson’s smirking even before he finishes her off, and she slumps back into the pillows with a delighted cry. He flops next to her, the bed rocking under his weight. She sighs, blissfully.

            “This is why you shouldn’t have gone to London,” she tells him, poking his side with a playful smile.

            He grins back at her, “London’s been good to me Lydia. It can be good to _you_ too, you know.”

Her heart freezes in her chest. Sure, she and Jackson have been dating for _years_ ,  but he had never mentioned anything slightly close to commitment. He hadn’t dared.

She flutters her eyelashes. “Oh _yeah_?” she teases, tracing a finger up his bicep.

“You just have to come meet my friend Matt,” he says.

She purses her lips. “I didn’t know you were into threesomes.”

She likes to see that she’s almost taken him off guard, a perceptible widening of the eyes, but instead he just laughs.

“This is why you’re perfect,” he says, but he doesn’t say it like a sweetheart says to his lover, he says it like a man to his possession.

“Perfect for what?” she challenges.

            He taps her temple. “You’re going to be our psychic Lydia,” he says softly. “Matt told us we need one you know.”

            She doesn’t have enough time to scream before he’s smashing a pillow down over her face.

            She shouldn’t have trusted him.

           

 

**_Scott McCall_ **

**_Year: 2016_ **

**_Time: 7:35 pm_ **

**_Location: La Caille_ **

 

                        Scott’s stomach tightens at the idea of Lydia Martin going insane at the hands of the enemy.

            “You’re saying Jackson and Matt were too late?” he says. Jackson and Matt were their top operatives, and if they hadn’t gotten to her in time, who _could_ have?

            “They were,” Peter says, delicately setting aside his knife and fork. “I presume you know the last one.”

            Scott’s hands tighten on the files he’s holding. He doesn’t want to flip past Lydia’s picture, he doesn’t want to reveal the face lurking beneath - _let me go._

“I know,” he bites out.

            “I suppose you don’t need to know his backstory,” Peter begins to examine his nails like he’s looking for imperfections. “He’s already agreed you know. You know we have the jar.”

            “It’s not enough.”

            “No, it’s really not,” Peter agrees. “But Stiles Stilinski has always pictured himself as a bit of a martyr, hasn’t he Scott?”

            Scott says nothing. He doesn’t flip to the last page. He doesn’t need to remind himself of the details of what had happened to Stiles, what had happened to _them_ , of what had happened to poor Erica and Boyd. _Let me go Scott._

“He’s going on this mission so he can die,” he finally tells his plate. “He’s going so someone can finish him off.”

            “And that’s why you’re going to join this team,” Peter says, leaning back in his seat. “Because if there’s one thing Scott McCall does - it’s protect Stiles Stilinski from himself.”

 

 

           

 

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	2. a complicated day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to my amazing friend annika!

**_Stiles Stilinski_ **

**_Year: 2016_ **

**_Time: 1:05 pm_ **

**_Location: Eichen House prison_ **

 

           

 

Eichen House prison was, as could be expected, a cold, lifeless place. The walls were made of stone lined with mountain ash, and the prison cells were encased in bulletproof glass, not to mention each cell was catered to that individual's ‘needs’.

            They let them out for ‘exercise’ between one and two in the afternoon every day, even if it was raining.

            It’s that one hour, with his hands tied behind his back and his mouth sealed shut with a piece of duct tape ( _so_ effective, he knows) that he becomes Lydia Martin’s friend.

            Everyone else was too afraid to come near him, but not Lydia. She’d come stand by him just to make a point to the others, and while there was no way she had ever heard his voice, she still talked to him.

            “I’m guessing it will be about three more days before Allison and Liam’s next fight,” she observes. She’s always making calculations like that if it’s a good day, observances of other people’s behaviors, occasionally solving complicated math equations. On bad days, she murmurs people’s names and screams at the guards when they get near.

            He wants to remind her that today is the day they come for them, but he can’t.

            “Or maybe today,” Lydia muses, watching Allison glare at Liam from across the small grass courtyard. “She really doesn’t like him.”

            Stiles nods. It’s the most he can do at this point. He doesn’t really mind though, his mouth likes to betray him sometimes.

            Lydia looks like she’s about to say something else (possibly on the growing disaster that is Allison and Liam?) before the doors at the front of the building crash open. Lydia flinches at the sound, one hand going to her temple, but Stiles is distracted by the sight of who’s walking through the door.

            Scott looks older, his shoulders broader, his muscles more defined, his hair cropped short. He looks like someone who had grown into himself easily.

            Unlike Stiles.

            He was also someone who was _not_ supposed to be here.

            He tries to convey all of his annoyance through his eyes, since his mouth is still taped shut, but Scott just looks stonily ahead.

            “Leave us,” he instructs the guards at the door.

            “But sir - “

            “You know my position Adams,” Scott growls.

            To Stiles’ surprise (Adams had always been a bit of dick) the man salutes and backs out into the building, along with the other guards stationed outside. _If_ he could talk, he’d probably yell at Scott. Sure, they were chained up, but that didn’t mean they weren’t _dangerous_.

            “I assume you all know who I am,” Scott says to them, his voice measured and calm. Lydia tenses beside him.

            “Yeah we know who you are,” Malia practically growls.

            “You’re the team chosen for this mission,” Scott then goes on, completely ignoring Malia’s comment. “But first, we need to see what you’re made of.”

            Lydia looks like she’s contemplating attacking Scott right then and there, so Stiles takes a step closer to her, his arm brushing against her’s. When she looks up at him, he shakes his head. He really doesn’t want to watch his best friend die today.

            “Stiles, you’re up first.”

            Stiles widens his eyes at Scott, trying to tell him that this probably _wasn’t_ a good idea, but Scott walks over anyways and grasps Stiles by the arm, tugging him away from Lydia. Lydia makes a sound low in her throat, but watches him go anyways. She hates the tasers they use, and Stiles can’t really blame her for not coming after him.

            Scott pulls him from the courtyard, down the gray, lifeless hall, and into a room that had always been locked to Stiles’ before. It looked like a kind of interrogation chamber, with one table fused to the floor, and three chairs.

            Scott shoved him into one of the chairs, and then bent down and ripped the duct tape off of Stiles’ mouth.

            “What the hell man?” Stiles groaned, his skin stinging. “A little warning next time?”

            “Why did they put tape on you?” Scott asks, sinking into the opposite chair, his cold leader mask fading away into concern.

            “The other one was getting a bit feisty with his words,” Stiles groaned. “He tricked them into believing that he could curse them all with words.”

            “So they settled for duct tape?” Scott scoffs. “Like that’ll stop him.”

            “I know right?” Stiles rolls his eyes. “So why exactly, are we here? You’ve seen what I - what _he_ can do.”

            “I want you to tell me everything you know about the people in that courtyard. How they keep them contained, what medications they’re on, their personalities - _everything_.”

            Stiles sighs. “Who do you want to start with?”

            “How about Lydia Martin?”

            Stiles really wishes Scott wouldn’t ask about her.

            “She’s very smart,” he finally says. “They put her on a lot of medications to help her ‘brain trauma’. She’s extremely good at fighting. They keep in her in hand and ankle chains twenty four seven.”

            He doesn’t tell Scott Lydia’s secret, the one she had whispered to him one day on the courtyard when it had been raining, her skin slicked with the water and her words shaky.

            Scott nods. “Allison?”

            Stiles goes through each of their traits and their abilities, their weaknesses and their strengths, until Scott looks satisfied.

            “Stiles,” Scott says, looking at the piece of duct tape he’d laid on the table, the sticky side up. Ready to be reapplied to Stiles’ mouth. “I missed you.”

            Stiles can see how much of a struggle it is to say those words, can still see the underlying anger and betrayal running through Scott.

            “I missed you too,” Stiles says, his voice suddenly catching in his throat. He doesn’t tell Scott that this is the first conversation that he’s had in two years with someone other than himself.

            Scott reaches out suddenly and envelops Stiles in a hug. Stiles feels tears burning in the back of his throat, his hands awkwardly caged behind his back.

            “Why did you join this team?” Stiles finally asks.

            “For you. Why did you join this team?”

            _For Lydia._ “For freedom,” Stiles says, like Scott expects him too, and Scott’s face tenses.

            “Well, I’ll talk to Allison next I guess,” Scott says, looking at his feet. The awkwardness fills the voids between them, and Stiles stands to go.

            “You need to - “ the cold rises up in him, disgusting and uninviting, and the chairs begin to rattle.

            “ _You really think you can save him Scott McCall_?” Stiles’ mouth says, but it’s not him. “ _Don’t forget about me._ ”

            Stiles’ body lunges, the chair flying up towards the ceiling. Scott pulls something out of his pocket.

            “I wouldn’t get any closer if I was you,” Scott warns, holding up the jar. He cracks the lid a tiny bit, and the thing inside Stiles’ howls as pain wracks his body. Stiles falls to his knees, and the cold retreats. “I’m in charge now Void,” Scott warns. “It’s best if you remember that.”

            “Put the duct tape back on,” Stiles says, his voice hoarse. “Now.”

            Scott gently lays the duct tape back on his skin, and Stiles feels the tears again, burning at the back of his eyes. He blinks them away, and Scott escorts him out the door.

 

**_Allison Argent_ **

**_Year: 2016_ **

**_Time: 2: 30_ **

**_Location: A shooting range just outside of Eichen House_ **

 

 

            The moment they unlock her shackles, Allison is sure they’ve made a mistake. Her arms are free, her legs are free, and she’s not even wearing any clothing that will weigh her down.

            “You must be stupid,” she tells the man in charge. There are ten other men behind him, not like when he talked to Stilinski. He really must be stupid then, because Stilinski was more dangerous than ten of her.

            “Not stupid,” the leader says. “You signed up for this team, I suggest you start proving your worth.”

            The table in front of her is laden with weapons, heavy crossbows and sleek longbows, arrows of all shapes and sizes, an archer’s dream.

            “Blunt arrows I’m guessing?” she asks, tracing a fingertip over one of the arrows.

            “Nope,” the leader says. “That wouldn’t really be testing what you could do, would it?”

            “You really are stupid,” she says, and then picks up a bow and loads in it under a minute. She whips around and points in straight at the leader’s heart.

            “So you kill me,” the leader says, holding his hands up in the air. “The men behind you will shoot you. You’ll die, in this hellhole of a place, with nobody to love you, and never feel even a taste of freedom again. Is that really how you want to go?”

            Allison hesitates. _Kill him,_ her aunt’s voice snarls in her head. It’s that voice that makes Allison turn around, and fire the arrow at the nearest target.

            It sinks deep into the metal’s head, and she grabs another, and another, and another, until all of the targets in the yard are riddled with holes.

            She turns around, dropping the bow on the ground and stalking up to the leader.

            “Was that good enough for you?” she says, putting on her best flirtatious smile. She knows prison has probably added discoloration to her cheeks and dulled her hair, but Scott McCall seems like the type of boy she would have gone out with before. _Before._

            “Scott McCall,” he says, holding out a hand for her to shake. She likes him already, she’s surprised to find, and reaches out to grasp his hand, not to flip him over her shoulder or break his fingers, but just to shake it.

            “Allison Argent,” she introduces.

 

 

 

 

 

**_Lydia Martin_ **

**_Year: 2016_ **

**_5: 00pm_ **

**_Location: Her Cell_ **

 

 

            “Not going to test out my abilities are you, Scott McCall?” Lydia asks, her back pressed against the far end of her cell. Scott is standing against the glass side, and she is surprised to find that his eyes are warm and kind when he looks on her.

            “No I’m not,” he says. “I wanted to ask you a few questions though. I could see that your abilities were good from the videos I watched.”

            “There weren’t any videos of Allison Argent killing people,” she fills in the gaps. “And you don’t want to anger Liam Dunbar into transforming, and Malia Tate’s robberies are captured on security cameras. So no, I suppose all you needed to see was their attitudes.”

            “Stiles said you were smart,” Scott chuckles. Lydia’s stomach clenches. Smart, but not smart enough anymore.

            “I am only proving that you can’t trick me like you did the other’s,” Lydia tells him. “I know they won’t free us, no matter how many missions we do.”

            She doesn’t say that she’s surprised that Scott had heard Stilinski talk, Lydia has never. He has always had that horrible black tape covering his mouth, he has only ever communicated to her in nods and light brushes of arm against arm.

            It was all a prisoner could do, after all.

            “Like I said, smart.”

            “Your point being?”

            “I want to know why you’re going on this mission,” Scott says. “I understand the other’s reasons, Malia’s hoping she can break free as soon as we hit ground, Liam’s hoping to prove that he’s not a monster and Stiles - well Stiles is - but _your_ reasons.”

            “Why would the crazy girl want to save the world?” she finishes his question.

            “I don’t think you’re crazy,” Scott says.

            Jackson’s face flashes in her mind, the scales creeping across his skin like a rash. Matt’s horrible cold laugh, the feeling of the knife on her belly.

            “Then you’re a fool,” Lydia breathes. “We’re all mad here.”

            “Alice in Wonderland,” Scott appraises.           “If you want to know my reason Scott McCall,” Lydia steps up closer to him, her body mere inches from his. She’s acting like Lydia 1.0. She likes this Lydia. She leans up, her breath tickling his lips. She can see that he wants to back away. “It’s precisely because I _am_ crazy.”

 

 

**_Scott McCall_ **

**_Year: 2016_ **

**_6:00 pm_ **

**_Location: His hotel room._ **

 

            He had taken one look at Liam Dunbar's dejected face and then decided it was enough for today. The other boy had shakily asked for news of his parents, a girl named Hayden, and his school.

            Scott had lied.

            His parents had rejected him, he had no idea who Hayden was, and three kids died the day he lost control in the hallway.

            Scott pulls a notebook from his bag and takes notes, his hand trembling slightly. Seeing Stiles had shaken him, he had to admit. He hadn’t seen his best friend in so long, and Stiles - with his hair in a disarray, his eyes half-mad, his voice cracked and unused - Scott was starting to think he should’ve visited Stiles earlier, damning the consequences.

            He began to write in notes on each of his new ‘team members’ feeling a steadily sinking in his stomach. He knew Stiles would follow him, but the dark spirit inside of him wouldn’t. Lydia Martin was a wildcard. Allison Argent would probably end up killing him. Liam Dunbar was like a bomb, ready to explode - and Malia Tate would probably kill herself trying to escape.

            What had he gotten himself into?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be more malia and liam in the next chapter. their introductions are a little more complex, and i didn't want to put them all in one spot, so here you go! i hope you enjoyed it! YOU GUYS WERE SO NICE!!


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